


And I've been looking at the stars for a long, long time

by JuliaBaggins



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras is a journalist, First Meetings, Fluff, Grantaire is an artist, M/M, there's also a dog involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12103815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBaggins/pseuds/JuliaBaggins
Summary: Through some lucky coincidences, journalist Enjolras finds himself at an art exhibition on a cold autumn evening. And when he happens to meet the artist himself, the paintings suddenly aren't the only things he's amazed by anymore...





	And I've been looking at the stars for a long, long time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Book_Thief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Book_Thief/gifts).



Enjolras took a deep breath. In, out, in again. The fresh autumn air filled his lungs and he closed his eyes for a moment; the wind ruffling through his curls while the tension that had held him in a tight clasp during the last weeks slowly left his body. After weeks and weeks of research he had finally been able to finish his article on a corruption scandal that involved two of the town’s biggest construction companies as well as at least three local politicians, a whole network to hide their criminal tendencies – it surely was the most important article of Enjolras’ admittedly relatively short writing career so far, and he was proud of it. _This_ was what he had studied journalism for, this satisfying feeling of justice, of having done something right. 

The honk of a car nearby caused Enjolras to look up, and he focused on his surroundings. The mass of cars, people in a rush trying to make each other drive even faster and messier than they already did; the winds of fall carrying bright orange leaves through a labyrinth of buildings made of glass and steel that rose towards a dark grey sky. It didn’t feel like the right place to celebrate his article, and Enjolras decided that he should spend what remained of the day somewhere else. 

Today was a weekday, so most of his friends would still be at work, and even if this wouldn’t be the case – as much as Enjolras loved them all and enjoyed their company, after all the intense interviews and talks with his colleagues during the last days, he liked the idea of some time to himself. For a moment, Enjolras entertained the idea of driving back to his apartment, just curling up with a book and a hot chocolate (and as today was a day to celebrate, there would be marshmallows in there, quite a lot actually). 

 

But then, while Enjolras was walking towards his metro station, fate decided to send him a messenger, disguised as a little black dog. Enjolras spotted the dark ball of fluff running around, barking enthusiastic while his young owner had a hard time of keeping up with his speed, and he smiled. The dog started chasing after a crumbled leaf, not minding the people or anything else in its way, and when the leaf happened to land right next to Enjolras’ shoe, the little black thing ran right towards him. 

Enjolras crouched down to pet the dog after a questioning look in the direction of the girl it belonged to that had just come to a stop a little out of breath, and after she nodded, he ran his fingers through the soft black fur. The little dog wiggled its tail in excitement and Enjolras laughed a heartfelt laugh. Then, the dog seemed to have spotted another exciting thing, because he started chasing after something new, and to Enjolras surprise, brought it to him. He knew of dogs taking sticks to their owners, and maybe this was the little furry ball’s way of making a friend? He picked up what the dog had laid down next to his shoe, expecting another leaf because of the bright orange colour. Before he could have a closer look, the girl the dog belonged to said Goodbye with a smile, dragging her little black energy bundle along. 

Enjolras still smiled, and when he had lost sight of the dog in between the legs of all the people, he looked back into his hand. And what he held wasn’t a leaf, but rather a piece of orange paper, slightly wet but still readable. It seemed to have been a brochure once, some kind of advertising, but now, he couldn’t make out what for – what was in his hand seemed to be the bottom corner, listing a date as well as an address. And oh, what a surprise it was, that this date was today’s, and the time about an hour later in the evening. Enjolras wondered what might be happening there, if he should google it, but decided against the idea. Wasn’t he sometimes told to be more spontaneous? Well, this seemed like a wonderful opportunity for a little adventure, and so he just decided to go there, trusting his new friend the dog that it might be something interesting. 

 

Five metro stations and a little walk through cold autumn air later, Enjolras found himself at the address given on his little piece of paper, and finally discovered what was happening there. A large poster on the front of what looked to be an industrial building stood out against the grey that was present here as well, swirls of bright orange seemingly in a battle with dark blue, and it advertised an art exhibition in curvy white letters. Enjolras didn’t know much about art but he always had been a curious person, and something about the painting that was depicted on the poster, something about the wild colours, it told him that he might like this.

A few minutes later, Enjolras found himself in a large hall; functional architecture and tall dusty windows a sharp contrast to filigree white tables that held glasses filled with champagne and people dressed in suits and dresses that probably cost more than Enjolras made in a year. Thanks to his work he was used to adapting to very different environments so he didn’t feel too out of place, and as soon as he laid eyes on the first painting, hung to a rough brick wall, he forgot about the other people completely. It seemed to be a landscape, green hills and little houses, but it was as if the scenery was seen through turbulent water, and the edges of the windows in the houses were so blurred into each other that Enjolras couldn’t have said if they actually were windows or rather eyes that stared at him, smirking mouths mocking him. The longer he looked at the painting, the more he felt as if there was a story that it wanted to tell, but only if you took your time to listen. Or to look, whatever.

 

“Do you like it?”

Enjolras turned around when he heard the question and the first thing he noticed was green, a green even greener than the hills on the picture he had gotten so lost in. What was so green turned out to be a pair of eyes, looking at him with curiosity. The eyes belonged to a man, taller than Enjolras and dressed in a grey suit that went well with his green eyes and his slightly lilac tie. His hair was dark and unruly, and the way the stranger raised his eyebrow when Enjolras missed to answer was most endearing to the journalist.

“I do like it”, Enjolras finally said, and a smile grazed the dark-haired man’s lips. 

“How do you happen to be here though? You neither seem like one of those bloody critics nor like some rich folk who is just looking for something to show off with the next time their equally rich and equally boring so-called friends visit them.”

Enjolras chuckled at the man’s description of most of the other visitors, because he’s quite good at reading people himself, and when he looked around, he couldn’t deny that there seemed to be some truth to his words. 

“No, I’m not rich and I also don’t know much about art, next to nothing if I’m honest. It’s more of a coincidence that I’m here – a very friendly dog recommended the exhibition, and as I had no plans yet for the evening I just went with it.”

“A _dog_ you say?”, the man asked, and the next second, he was laughing. 

Once again, Enjolras took his time to answer, and this time, the reason might have been that he wouldn’t think of interrupting a sound so wholesome and wonderful as this laugh. 

 

“Monsieur Grantaire?”, a woman suddenly asked, her lipstick as red as her dress and her eyes hungrily looking at the man next to Enjolras.

“Yes?”, the man answered, and Enjolras wondered if it was just his wishful imagination or if he actually seemed unhappy when the woman dragged him to a painting across the hall and into a talk that contained so many art vocabularies that Enjolras didn’t understand much of it even when they still were in hearing range.

 

Enjolras just wondered about what he should do now when a man with a notebook in his hands appeared next to him and started a conversation.

“He’s quite talented, isn’t he?”

“Huh?”, was all of an answer that Enjolras came up with. 

“Grantaire, or _R_ how he prefers to call himself”, the man explained, and he talked slowly, as if to somehow who had trouble understanding him. Which, admittedly, Enjolras had at the moment.

“I wasn’t a big fan of his early works to be honest, or I rather predicted that he’d never have any success, but now he actually had some ideas that could be worth something, and for once he’s not even wearing that horrendous beanie that…”

Enjolras stopped listening to the man’s voice because suddenly, understanding hit him. The lady in red had talked to the handsome man with the green eyes as Monsieur Grantaire, and there was a tiny R scribbled in the corner of the painting he had been so focused on earlier but that he only noticed now that he looked for it, and when he thought back of the poster for the exhibition facing the street, there had been that name too, Grantaire. 

So Enjolras had actually held a conversation with the man whose art was gracing this location, and he didn’t have a clue. He was not sure if he should laugh at the absurdity of this or be embarrassed about how he had told the man stories about a dog sending him here and not once complimented him on his art. Not that he would have known who was standing in front of him, but that didn’t mean that Grantaire was aware of this. It seemed as if everyone else here knew very well who he was, and Enjolras felt the need to explain himself. And maybe, just maybe, he also wanted to talk to the man a little more, and, if he happened to be very lucky, to hear his wonderful laugh again. 

 

While Enjolras was still lost in his thoughts and thinking about what he might say to Grantaire (the critic who had been talking to him had left a few minutes ago, an irritated shake of his head at the lack of an answer from Enjolras to all he had said), the man himself came back to his site.

“Hey again”, Grantaire said, and Enjolras already heard the smile in his voice before he turned around and actually saw it.

“Hey”, he answered, and the nervousness in his voice certainly only was reasoned in the fact that the other man had turned out to be an actual artist. Not that it would have anything to do with the way his eyes were sparkling. Or how handsome he was in general; bordering on beautiful, or how enjoyable their previous conversation had been. Or at least Enjolras told himself this.

“Would you maybe fancy a glass of champagne? I certainly could like one, and especially some pleasant company that is not trying to seduce me with talks about her husband’s successful investment banking and his long business trips.”

Grantaire’s eyes flickered towards the lady in red that had dragged him away earlier, and Enjolras couldn’t fight a laugh.

“She didn’t.”

“Oh yes, she did”, Grantaire answered, laughing as well. And if Enjolras liked how very uninterested the artist seemed to be in the woman’s advances, he kept it to himself.

 

Grantaire smiled at Enjolras over the edge of his champagne glass, and Enjolras took a sip of the drink, already noticing a bubbly feeling in his stomach. Huh, this seemed to be affecting one very fast.

“May I ask for your name?”, Grantaire said after a moment, and Enjolras nodded quickly.

“Yes, yes of course. It’s Enjolras.”

Enjolras extended his hand which somehow felt a little weird, but right now he didn’t have a better idea of what to do, and when Grantaire shook it, he found that he actually enjoyed the feeling of the other man’s hand in his. Maybe Grantaire held onto it a little longer than it was required for a formal introduction, but none of them seemed to mind it the slightest.

“Pleasure to meet you, Enjolras. I’m Grantaire.”

“Yes, I know you are.”

“Oh, you do?”, Grantaire asked with a smirk, and oh, Enjolras suddenly noticed that when he did this, the left corner of his mouth went up a little higher than the right one.

“Well, I got told. Recently. By a very charming man who told me how he _predicted_ that no one would ever enjoy your art, and who seemed to be happy about you not wearing a hat.”

“Oh, god, I know about whom you’re talking. And _charming_ he is indeed”, Grantaire answered, a roll of his eyes and another smirk accompanying his words. 

“Speaking of the devil…”, Enjolras muttered, because right in that moment, the critic they had been talking about seemed to be wandering in their direction.

“Hey, Enjolras, a quick question before he gets here and doesn’t release us from his claws for god knows how long – would you maybe like to go out for a coffee some time? Or a tea, if that’s more of your thing? And I hope I’m not being too forward here-“

“Yes”, Enjolras simply said, taking a deep breath before placing a hand on Grantaire’s arm and shifting a little closer to the man.

“I would very much like going out for a coffee with you.”

“Wonderful”, Grantaire said, and yes, it was. Just like the way his whole face was lighting up with his smile, and like the feeling in Enjolras’ fingers when Grantaire brushed his hand against Enjolras’. Wonderful indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Nice comments would make my day! ❤︎ 
> 
> Title from James Blunt's "Bonfire Heart"


End file.
